Imagine This

Spencer Reid | Checkmate

Spencer Reid x Reader: Reader is kidnapped by an old unsub with a vendetta against Spencer and the BAU races to find her before it's too late.

Warnings: drug use (non-consensual/forced), torture, kidnapping

Word Count: 3.7k

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I couldn't see anything, wherever I was it was pitch black without a single sliver of light for my eyes to focus on. The only thing I could hear was ragged breaths escaping my lips as my panic grew and grew. My body was exhausted, further weighed down by what felt like a metal collar and matching cuffs at my ankles. My face stung and the distinct taste of blood stuck to my tongue. I was sitting on something soft; my fingertips dug into cotton sheets and I could feel a blanket or sheet of some sort covering my bare feet. Despite not being able to see where I was, my body gave me the distinct impression that myself and the mattress I was on were the only things in the room. Besides that, the room was most definitely devoid of anything else. The only thing keeping me from shivering being the sweatshirt that still hung from my body. Spencer's sweatshirt. What little energy I had left I used to drag my hand over the letters on my breast, spelling out CalTech over and over in a failing attempt to ground myself. To calm my rapidly beating heart.

"Fuck." The word escaped my lips before I could stop them, hanging in the thick silence that filled the room. Just as quickly as it came out, the silence broke as a voice reverberated throughout the room.

"I see the lovely subject has awoken." A PA system crackled, sounding from all around me. It felt as though I was sitting in the middle of a vast movie theater. "How is she settling?"

"Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe."

Mhmm, that would be why I woke up restrained and bleeding, sitting in the middle of a pitch-black room talking to someone who refers to me as "the lovely subject." But what came out of my mouth instead was a rushed spew of words, my voice rising as the panic steadily rose with every passing minute. "Who are you? Why am I here? Why'd you take me?"

There was a pause before the crackle sounded again. "Who I am isn't important. Not to you anyway."

A bright overhead light turned on with no warning, a projector along with it, lighting up the walls and ceiling that surrounded me. The room became alive with the horrible, terrified image of me. And it was live. As I turned my head to look throughout the room, so did projection Y/N. My hair was a bloody, matted mess, torn in spots from being yanked as I could now remember. I was right, a large, rusted metal collar adorned my neck. A long chain trailed from it to my ankles where two more cuffs secured me to the bed. My face was covered in cuts and scratches, trails of blood falling from my eyebrow and my nose explained the thick coating of blood on my tongue.

A metal scraping sounded, accompanied by the opening of a door in the corner. There was nowhere for me to go, I was literally chained to my bed. So I was forced to sit there, cowering as far back into the corner of the mattress as I possibly could, as a man dressed head to toe in scrubs towed a cart towards me. I couldn't see what was in the cart but I wasn't left wondering for too long, as the man stopped in front of me and pulled out a needle, steadying his hand to pull some liquid from a small glass pharmaceutical bottle.

"No. No. Please don't. NO." His grip was too hard for me to escape but that didn't stop me from thrashing around and making his endeavor as hard as possible for him. My free arm flailed, hitting him square in the jaw with a smack and forcing him to put the needle down.

"Don't struggle and you won't feel anything. This is what you get for struggling." This time I was unable to free any of my body parts to fight back. His one hand gripped both of my wrists, practically cutting off circulation, and the scalpel he had picked up in favor of the needle dragged across the skin on my forearm. A scream sounded in the room. A scream that I realized had to be coming from me. His assault continued onto my palm, cutting lines into my fingers for no reason other than to hear me scream.